


The Spanish Inquisition

by Tiriel



Category: Sliding Doors (1998)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 09:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8884906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiriel/pseuds/Tiriel
Summary: Snapshots of how Helen and James navigate their new world together.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yahtzee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yahtzee/gifts).



“Mum, I have something I want to tell you. Well, I don’t _want_ to tell you but I think I have to tell you and I don’t want you to be disappointed in me, but—“

“It’s all right, love. You and Claudia gave it a good go. And it was sweet of you to try to put on a show for my sake, but really not necessary.”

“You sneaky woman! Why didn’t you say something?”

“Well, your little charade seemed to be making you feel better, so I figured what’s the harm? But now that you’re a bit less worried about me, there’s no point in keeping it up. She’s a dear girl, and I’ll still have her over for tea from time to time. Now tell me about her.”

“Claudia?” 

“No, the one who inspired this confession and put that spring in your step. Tell me about her… or I’ll fetch the comfy chair!”

* * *

_Earlier:_

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," Helen said, automatically, then wasn't sure why she had. She turned to look at the man next to her as the elevator doors closed.

They spoke in unison, “Have we m—“

“Sorry, go ahead,” James said.

“No, you go ahead,” Helen said.

“No, you, I insist.”

“We _have_ met before, haven’t we?” She paused. “Do you eat at Bertorelli’s? Or get sandwiches delivered from—No, wait, that’s not it. You picked up my earring.”

“Yes, I did, you’re very observant.”

“No, not now, well, now, but also before. In another lift, in my old office building.”

“Ah. And then I swept you off your feet with my good looks and charm, and you let me take you to dinner at my friend’s new restaurant. Very good food, not terribly popular just yet but give him time and I’m sure he’ll make it happen.”

“I’m pretty sure I’d remember something like that.”

“I think you will.”

Helen raised an eyebrow and a small smile quirked her lips. “Has your friend got a PR firm?”

The lift doors opened and they stepped out into the lobby, walking side by side.

“No, actually, not from lack of trying on my part. He believes in word of mouth, I’m afraid. Now about dinner…”

“Well, I suppose I could take a look at the place. Professionally, that is. I work in PR. Or used to, before I got sacked.”

“That’s a ringing endorsement if I ever heard one. Sorry, I mean, I just met you, I shouldn’t tease you like that, it’s rude.”

They kept walking out of the hospital and towards the tube station stairwell. “I’ll let you make it up to me. I’ve been thinking about starting my own firm, actually.”

“Then I can help you land your first client and we can discuss the sweeping you off your feet part later. Meet me there at 8:00? Clive’s Bar and Restaurant.”

“All right,” Helen said. “See you there… you know, we didn’t meet, actually. You didn’t give me your name.”

“James.”

“Helen. Now we’ve met.”

“Now we’ve met.”

* * *

Helen considered herself lucky to have escaped her relationship with Gerry with only two and a half wasted years, a combination of regret and relief about the baby that might have been, and an aversion to Elton John. James was about to finalize his divorce and on good terms with his ex. From that first dinner they slid comfortably into dating, fitting into each other’s lives as naturally as if they’d been there for ages. With Clive signed on as a client, Helen secured a small business loan, quit her other jobs, and got her PR firm off the ground with a huge post-launch launch party for the restaurant. James’ amiable, sometimes aimless, chatty commentary on the world became a necessary part of the soundtrack of Helen’s day. 

* * *

“I wish we’d met sooner—well, gotten to know each other sooner, anyway, since we kind of did meet sooner than we met,” James said, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as they sat on his couch.

“I don’t,” Helen said emphatically. “It would have been a mess. I was all tangled up with Gerry, you were worried about your mum, who knows what might have gone wrong. Much better to meet when we did.”

“I suppose you might be right about that,” he said. “Now, let’s talk about you meeting my mum…”

* * *

“Anna,” Helen said, “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate you letting me stay here—“

“Let me guess, you and James are getting a place together, so you’re moving out. It’s about bloody time!”

“It’s only been three months, Anna.”

“Is that all? It feels like you’ve known him longer than that. Anyway, I think he’s fabulous, as you know, and not just because he isn’t Gerry. James has his own merits. I wholeheartedly approve.”

“So do I.”

* * *

Living together was easy, too, like everything else had been. It scared her, sometimes, to have something so beautiful go so smoothly. It was unexpected (“Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!” James’ voice sang out in her head), but she felt like she’d earned it, somehow, and a year had already slipped by. This, however, she was still nervous about. She took a deep breath and held out her hand.

“Are you sure?” James said, eyes wide as he looked at the pink lines.

“They come two to a packet. I bought three packets. I’m sure.” She smiled.

James grinned and threw his arms around her. “We’re having a baby!”

* * *

_Coda:_

The manuscript was awful. It was yet another male wish fulfillment book where the main character had somehow caught the attention of two women despite having no particular redeeming qualities. The long-suffering wife, working two jobs to support her husband’s dream of becoming an important sculptor, seemed far more heroic and interesting than he did, and the voluptuous mistress mostly came off like a horrible human being who was prone to irritatingly anti-feminist pronouncements about the nature of women, men, and relationships. The sex scene with the modeling clay was a terrible knock-off of the pottery wheel scene in “Ghost,” and the only other interesting character was the sculptor's best friend, an amateur boxer with a delightful sense of humor. The aspiring sculptor’s decisive rejection of the mistress in favor of the wife and his subsequent acclaimed museum show felt unrealistic, and the framing device, talking to himself in the mirror about how it wasn’t good to talk to yourself in the mirror and then telling his story to the mirror, added nothing. Rachel looked back at the envelope and discovered that the author hadn’t provided a return address, simply scrawled, “Helen, I really, really want you to read this,” on the flap, so she couldn’t even send a polite note of regret that the firm wouldn’t be helping him promote it, but it certainly wasn’t worth Helen’s time, particularly not when the boss had her own engagement party to plan. 

Screening out nonstarters like this one was part of the job, so Helen's assistant dropped it in the recycling bin without a second thought.


End file.
